No track selected
The Cursed Blue Rose
Grass hills roll across the middle of the continent, and where a river cuts through them Risbern was raised — a city of the third wave that grew into one of the greatest in the world, and into the seat of a power reaching far past its own walls. The hills feed it with grain, pasture and herds; the river carries what the hills cannot. Everything else is arranged around war. Smithies, remount lines, granaries sized for campaigns and roads leaving in every direction give the place the shape of a standing army with a city attached, and a Risberner reckons distance in marching days rather than miles.
Its people are Suvanar, and their faith is the Radiant Light, kept close to the business of governing rather than apart from it — the city's soldiery and its devout are drawn from the same households. Arcane practice runs alongside both, taught and funded as a branch of the city's strength rather than a curiosity. Risbern answers to no one. A good many cities answer to Risbern.